


The Yearly

by helena_s_renn



Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: They meet in Sheffield during holiday time...If anyone were to overhear their voices raised in passionate, wordless outcry, that was their own doing.
Relationships: Rick Allen/Rick Savage, Rick Allen/Rick Savage/Steve Clark (referenced)
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Written as a gift for NWesternRockAddict, as part of 2019's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'Rick Savage,Rick Allen (Def Leppard): Fluffy hurt/comfort with the two Ricks. Your choice on humorous or angsty!.'  
> *'Humorous or angsty'—how about some of both.  
> *This fic is related to another story, "Better This Way".  
> *Absolutely no disrespect is ever intended to any member of DL, past or present, or their families.

-2019, Late December

It was a long-standing tradition. Rick came home to Sheffield to visit his family for the holidays, and Sav would find some excuse to disappear for a few hours. The bed and breakfast had a little bungalow only a few select customers were allowed to rent during the season. The owners, the daughter and son-and-law of the original innkeepers, knew their names but were much more discreet than to use them. All was paid in advance so that nothing disturbed them and no one saw hide nor hair of them. If anyone were to overhear their voices raised in passionate, wordless outcry, that was their own doing. 

They weren't able to meet every single year. Sometimes tour dates ran too close and left them no time. Nine-eleven, no one went anywhere. The years in which they'd married or had children, those were out of bounds without even discussing it. On tour, they'd infrequently have their own version of meet-and-greet, often quick and dirty, when their blood was up post-show, no big deal. So these little idylls weren't their only outlet but they did provide for an uninterrupted reunion and renewal. 

Sav drove into the alley, and into the single-space car park behind the guesthouse. Beside him in the passenger seat, Rick unclipped his seatbelt - a much easier task for him than in the US. Neither brought more than a backpack of 'just in case' items, which they grabbed from the boot before jogging into their 'room'. The path was cleared and dry, but the trees lining the garden were frosted, nature's flocking.

Soundless on its hinges, the door swung open before them, cedar-scented air greeting them, the source fresh-cut branches in the metal bin by a stone fireplace. From a huge tub sunk in the floor to a sauna, full kitchen and bar, the place had every amenity but they wouldn't use much of it. They booked here out of habit and nostalgia, and because there was no chance of being seen. 

Once inside, door bolted, they dropped their bags, their reserve, and fell into a long embrace. Body to body, arms around and holding tight, scents were inhaled. 

The warmth and affection was even more now than the first year - post-Hysteria - they'd done this, back then in a different, generic hotel room. It had been Rick's idea. They'd thought it a one-off at the time. As it turned out, the clandestine, insular hours gave them each a boost in spirits that got them through the dark months of winter. These days, sunny California provided Rick with light and vitamin D. There were other things he needed, and he slid his hand slowly down. 

Here, they didn't have to worry about anyone saying they held on too long or too close. Familiarity with each others' bodies never made it less of a relief to feel the safety and comfort associated. Years had changed them, in some ways radically and in some, subtly, all integrated. 

Before they broke, things were stirring just from the hug. No surprise there. 

"C'mon, take your coat off," Rick insisted. 

"So good to see you, mate." Sav's voice held a level of sincerity that made Rick's eyes water, because he knew things were never easy at home and that his bandmate needed this as much as he did. 

"How long's it been, anyway?" Rick threw an assessing look in Sav's direction. He wanted to keep it light at least for the first round. Watching the bassist's fingers work open his coat buttons shouldn't be erotic, but it was. As answer, Rick unzipped his ski jacket and let it slide off, hanging it on one of the hooks behind the door.

"Too long. Not as long as you're trying to suggest, though." One side of Sav's mouth twitched. "Some night during the Canadian leg. Why am I having to remind you?"

"Here I thought I was reminding you." Rick let his stare bore deep into Sav's as he backed away. "There oughta be a spare piece of wall around here somewhere." 

That brought on a classic hair toss, although Sav had to admit, "Likely, but my knees aren't what they once were."

"Aw! Grandpa doesn't want to play Jingle Balls?" The idea and memories were giving Rick a head rush -- south. 

"Maybe later, horizontally," Sav grinned lopsidedly as he hung up his ridiculous, ginormous fake-fur coat next to Rick's. "If I recall, the bed here is more than adequate." 

"Indeed," Rick replied archly. Then he returned to his former thought process, following Sav into the bedroom. There was no point in delaying, since they would have a longer wait afterwards than their younger selves. "You're lucky I never jumped you in Vegas. That fucking outfit. How dare you strut around in front of me in a g-string like some showgirl?" 

"Bait," Sav snorted. "And I did not." 

"Your little dressmaker never told you how see-through that thing is." 

"It's bespoke." Meaning Sav knew exactly what he was doing.

Meaning Rick was going to rub his nose in it. "Little black panties underneath. Really, Sav. At your age." 

"I saw the photo. Someone was grinning like the 15-year-old boy I once knew. Wanna see them again?" Sav grinned and nudged the backpack he'd brought along from the hall with his toe. 

"You brought them?"

"Wanna find out?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sav had the item but they decided to forgo the rigamarole. Knowing it was there was enough. They got each other undressed. Although Rick hadn't needed anyone's help with his clothes in more than three decades, Sav always assisted anyway where he could. Knees or no knees, he got down on one to take Rick's socks off while the drummer braced his hand on Sav's shoulder for balance and lifted one foot at a time.

In bed, they touched more than casually again. Couldn't get enough it seemed, not of touch, visually or tactilely. Taking the piss out of Sav for his wardrobe forgotten, Rick seemed determined to cover him with as many kisses as the little punched-out holes of his stagewear. Ever vocal, Sav's moans and expletives as Rick held him down and made him take it flew to the rafters of the cathedral ceiling far overhead.

It was different to make love in daylight. The pale northern winter sun was unforgiving. Neither of them found it a deterrent. Things turning grey or white or soft or lined did not prevent the necessary hardness. It meant new or different features. Despite deep lines around his eyes, Rick still projected youth, just as Sav had said. He was avid to get the bassist's chest, wondering how after so much time, his nipples were changed, foreign, little titties padding under them, a crease defining the lower border. Sometimes it was on the tip of his tongue to ask if it was deliberate, and was Sav planning to make a significant change.

But then halfway there he was rolled over onto his back. Sav got on top of him as if it were the natural order, prepped and entered him. Rick gasped at the invasion of property which after all these years never failed to knock him silly at first. They were both still strong men; in a way it was a wrestling match, a contest of who could make whom lose it first.

"Your dick is still exactly the same as when you were 18," Sav finally said, hand moving up and down the length. His hips moved the same as when he was young, too, if at a less frenetic pace.

"Oh yeah?" Rick pressed out, tightening the grip of his legs. "Halfin will be pleased. Yours always takes the breath out of me."

"I don't mean to say," Sav slowed down rather than speed up, "that I mind your whiskers turning grey or your tummy--"

"Hey!"

"It's cute."

"Maybe I should turn over."

"No, I wanna see your face when you..." Words became pointless. When Sav rose up and screeched, Rick saw only feral masculinity there and hoped, though it wasn't his business or his choice, that Sav didn't put that side of himself aside. He couldn't imagine not being able to shower love in a glorious mess, other than should age take that from them.

The only thing unsatisfying compared to years past was that they couldn't smoke inside. Having cut back significantly, it was more of an annoyance than anything.

"So..." Rick said into the stillness.

"So..." repeated Sav.


	3. Chapter 3

Sav's stomach growled, loud enough for Rick to hear it. They looked at each other. "The lord has spoken," Rick intoned, then laughed.

"I worked up an appetite. Let's see if there's anything resembling food in the fridge." That would be easier for Sav, as he'd never imposed dietary restrictions upon himself beyond quantity limitations and common sense. "Did I make you hungry, too?"

"In more ways than one. But I could eat. We know they have the good tea from past visits," Rick added. He sat up and left the bed, realizing after he'd pulled on his sweatpants that Sav hadn't moved. When he looked over, cool blue eyes were glued to him. It had been years since he'd felt self-conscious and he didn't then. "What?"

"Well I... erm." It wasn't like Sav to be at a loss for words. "I feel privileged to see you. All of you. Not just your body."

For a second, Rick's temper flared but he controlled the urge to snap a retort. He walked around the bed without breaking the stare he'd been locked into and sat down. "You mean what's left of me?" he asked in a deliberately mild tone.

Anyone else would have deflected. "Yes. And before you accuse me of having some weird kink, I just mean that I rarely even notice. In bed, it doesn't hamper us. But then in the afterglow," Sav swallowed, "I wonder what if. You're a damned fine musician, what if--"

"I'd have OD'd," they both flinched, "or burned out or been locked up, mental ward or jail your choice. These are things I've told a thousand interviewers. What are you on about?"

Sav blinked once and licked his lower lip. "Have you ever had a premonition?"

The hairs on Rick's arms stood up. No, he was not going to go there. Just speaking its name was inviting trouble. "Only that one of these years, we're going to need to invest in Cialis."

"Are you impugning my manhood?"

"Your manhood is alive and well... as I told you earlier, didn't I?"

"You're avoiding me." Sav sat up, too, the white sheet draped over most of his lower half picking up patterns of light through the high windows.

"I'm right here, you twat." No one else ever called Sav that these days, not even Viv, who cheerfully disrespected everyone to hide his gooey interior. "I'm not fragile. Better than ever besides a too-hectic schedule. What's going on with you?" Though he hid it well, Sav went through more stress behind closed doors than most. He caught hell for this every year. Probably only Rick and Joe knew.

"How long can you stay?"

"The night, if you need me to. It's no big thing. I'll just say you nearly drowned in a whisky bottle and I needed to be here to hold your hair back while you puked," winked Rick.

"That might happen." Sav looked down, picking at the cuticle of his left thumbnail.

"Naw. Let's find some food and take the edge off."

In the other room, which had an open floor plan, Rick made their tea while Sav, wrapped in the sheet, squatted down to built a fire in the hearth. There was a moment where Rick almost warned him about being careful not to set himself ablaze, but nothing of the sort happened. Soon he was highlighted from below by orange-red firelight. They pulled two armchairs in front of it. The fridge and cupboards held healthy things and snacks, which Sav had brought from the kitchen on a tray. Feet extended toward the crackling flames, they ate till they were on the verge of being stuffed. Domestic bliss.

Eventually, Rick ventured, "This is nice but I feel like there's something hanging over us. You sort of dropped a bombshell. Or rather, didn't." His inflection invited Sav to vent.

Instead, his voice took on the scratchy, reedy eagerness of a kid a quarter of his age. "I have news. Have been fairly bursting to tell you."

"Oh really? You never let on. What is it?"

"I heard from Steve."

"Brown? How is he? It's good he's there if we should need him again, but I hope we never--"

"Clark." It was un-Sav-like for him to cut in.

It took a moment for Rick to register the possible implications. He had a swig of his cooling tea, looking over the rim of the cup. "Sav, you know I love you... but now I know you're cracked."


	4. Chapter 4

Rick leaned forward in his armchair to poke at the fire with the blackened iron rod. The yellow-orange fusion crackled and sent a few glowing sparks onto the light grey stone hearth. Those scattered embers died quickly. Not, he reflected, like the fire within himself, which he constantly monitored and found creative outlets for. Not like the fireplace blaze, from which a wave of heat from the stirred logs soon washed over him. Nor that of the man next to him, looking so alive and animated despite barely moving to emphasize the unfathomable malarkey he spouted.

The first three-quarters of the tale Sav wove was feasible - his words had rolled out into the space around them, tumbled out, full of the ragged tones of long-buried emotion. Sav often 'spoke' with his hands in accompanying expansive gestures. His lack of flailing pointed to his seriousness. Of course Sav and Steve had shared a special connection. All of them did, past and present, with Steve and with each other. Rick featured it a bit like each of them were a point on a hand-drawn star, lines passing back and forth between each possible connection like kids playing a six-way game of Telephone. Not seven - none of them had talked to Pete since the early Nineties. And not Viv to Steve per se, but the rest. The overall 'band' cohesion in its various phases had always had its own unique feel, separate from any pairing or threesome or whatnot.

Because he wanted to believe it so badly, himself, Rick allowed Sav convince him - contingent on proof - to suspend his disbelief. Sparing little in the way of details, the retelling ended by sending Rick's Leppard worldview tilting far sideways. Steve. Alive. All these years. What the actual fuck? What did that make Sav - the Cryptkeeper?

When it was over, Rick waited till his blinking ceased, his cuppa long since gone dry. A hundred emotions and questions bounced around his brain like pinballs batted about inside the classic arcade game. Anger, and joy. Something like betrayal, and understanding. Empathy for Sav's conundrum, and the perhaps-idiotic wish he had been the chosen one. And then the Why, Why, Why. On the outside, he maintained a calm façade. "So that's how it is?"

"That's how it was," Sav corrected him. He raised his nearly-empty beer bottle, ringless fingers curling around below the neck, and drained it. The motion in the darkening room's shadows reminded Rick of those times he'd been sure he'd seen someone or something move in his peripheral vision, though he was alone. Here there was him and Sav and the fire. And the ghost that did not - could not - exist. When he didn't speak, Sav went on. "It's been so long since then. I wasn't sure if any of the rest of you would want to reopen those... What do you consider them, Rick? Doors? Wounds?"

It was far too early to know the effects of such a turn. Rick bypassed Sav's questions and uncertainty about his bandmates, his blood rising in eagerness to retrieve one piece of lost youth. "We should call him."

"Can't. His number's private and I didn't ask for it."

"Why-ever not?"

Flicking his hair back, Sav disclosed, "He... he wants to be the one to pick the time and place. If we all agree."

For no good reason, Rick was further aroused. Cancel that: a good reason sat - legs crossed and back straight - in the chair next to him, clad in a sheet. "I for one agree. Who decreed it has to be unanimous? Fuck that. In fact, I think this calls for a celebratory shag," he stated in a mild voice, as if it were a given. Perhaps it was.

"Well of course it does." Sav leaned to the side to set his beer bottle down soundlessly on the floor. Then he rose and let the sheet fall around his feet in a whisper, turning to look down at Rick expectantly.

"What, Sav? Waiting for me to wax poetic over the wonder that is you?"

"That's not my point."

"Yes, I can see your point." Rick blew out a quick, forceful breath to release the sarcasm, changed his pitch and dropped any trace of SoCal pronunciation. "Can we play like he's 'ere?"

Sav didn't answer in words. A surprised grunt punched out of him. There was a raised eyebrow, a flash of teeth. And when Rick lowered his eyes, there was more definite interest.

They'd played it like that before, less than a handful to be counted. Every time, Rick had initiated it. For him, it wasn't a fanciful thing; he was too practical and reality-encumbered for that. When those pleas had come out, he'd been in desperate straits. The odd role-play sessions, each of them re-enacting parts of Steve as best they could in half-remembered quotes, mannerisms, certain ways of touching and particularly impassioned sex, didn't need to be brought up again afterward. The last time had been six years before, at the prospect of losing another guitarist. If Rick's request for a repeat now didn't show the stress Sav's 'reveal' had put him under, nothing would. From the looks he was getting, the bassist knew it.

But it didn't quench any fires. They could clean up their snack remains later. Rick was out of his chair and leading - hauling - Sav to the bedroom before either of them could frame any further comment.

Though he normally went into any encounter eyes wide open, for this Rick's lids remained firmly closed. He had to, to imagine the middle-aged body below him was lighter and bonier, less muscled. The mouth he was kissing, he well knew, was a close match, and Sav had learned by trial, error and coaching how to move his tongue like Steve had.

For his part, attempting to mimic certain moves was futile but Rick burrowed into Sav's chest to revisit their earlier days, earlier times. "Ask me," he prompted, drawing the comforter up.

With a sigh, Sav kissed his hair. "What advice do you have for young guitarists?"

"Practice... and learn to play drums," Rick replied, voice not much more than a whisper.

Fin.


End file.
